Chapter 5: Echoes Beneath the Ash
The morning after the attack was quiet—not peaceful, but the kind of stillness that came after a scream. The village of Arin'Thal smoldered in places, ash mixing with dew. Villagers moved like ghosts through their own homes, repairing what they could, mourning what they couldn't.
Po stood at the edge of the Ember Well, staring into its glowing core. His knuckles were scraped, his muscles burned, and his chest was tight—not from exhaustion, but from what he had felt.
Power. Real power.
And fear.
He had driven back the Hounds. Wounded a Seeker. Made the villagers look at him like something more than a stranger.
So why did he feel so hollow?
"Thinking of diving in?" Thorne's voice broke his thoughts. The older warrior stepped up beside him, bandages wrapping one arm. "Might cure the brooding."
"I'm not brooding," Po muttered.
Thorne raised an eyebrow. "Sure. And I'm a baker."
Po sighed. "What happens now? They'll come again."
Thorne's smile faded. "Yes. And next time, they won't test your strength. They'll crush you with theirs."
Kaelen approached, her silver armor newly polished, though her eyes looked as tired as Po felt. She handed him a scroll sealed in wax. "The Council of Sparks has summoned you."
Po blinked. "That's… a real thing?"
Kaelen nodded. "They're the ones who decide how to use the Ember Well's power. Guardians of its legacy. If they believe you're truly the Flamebreaker, they'll offer aid. But they're not easy to convince."
Thorne scoffed. "They're a bunch of relics hiding behind old prophecies and fire-soaked traditions. But they mean well—mostly."
Kaelen ignored him. "We leave at midday."
"Where are they?" Po asked.
Kaelen's gaze turned toward the mountains. "In the city above the clouds—Skyreach."
—
The journey to Skyreach was long and arduous. They passed through forests recovering from war, past ruins tangled with vines and whispers of forgotten magic. Po trained when he could, guided by Kaelen's discipline and Thorne's unpredictability.
At night, the fire in his chest felt louder. It pulsed with emotion—rage, wonder, fear, and something else: memory.
He dreamed of flames wrapping around towers, of a blade glowing in his hand. Of voices—names he didn't recognize. Yet they felt familiar.
"Po... wake up!"
Kaelen's voice roused him. They were camped in a rocky canyon, starlight barely reaching them. Kaelen stood, tense, eyes scanning the cliffs.
"What is it?"
"Not Hounds," she whispered. "Something older."
The ground trembled slightly, then a rumble echoed between stone walls.
A figure emerged from the canyon wall—stone flowing like water. It shaped into a being ten feet tall, with eyes of molten rock.
Thorne cursed. "An Ember Warden."
"I thought they were extinct," Kaelen hissed.
"They are," Thorne said. "Or were. Why is it waking now?"
The Warden stared at Po. "Flamebreaker," it said, its voice like grinding stone. "Your flame disrupts the balance. Why?"
Po stepped forward, wary. "I didn't choose this. The Flame chose me."
The Warden tilted its head. "Then prove you are its bearer. Or be turned to ash."
It struck the ground with a fist—flames erupting in arcs. Kaelen and Thorne jumped into action, but Po held up a hand.
"No," he said. "This is mine."
He let the fire in him rise—but not explode. He shaped it, breathed with it, as Kaelen had taught him. He formed it into a symbol—the phoenix sigil again, this time clearer, steadier.
The Warden paused.
"You hold more than flame," it said. "You hold choice. Few do."
Its body began to crumble. Before it vanished, it spoke once more. "Beware the Bound Flame. Not all fires burn clean."
Then it was gone.
—
Skyreach appeared two days later—floating high above a cliffside, tethered by chains of light and platforms of wind. It shimmered like a mirage, a fortress of white flame and mirrored stone.
As they ascended the lifts powered by air runes, Po stared in awe. "This is where they keep the truth?"
Kaelen gave a small smile. "Some of it. Truth, like fire, changes shape depending on who holds it."
Inside, they were met by guards cloaked in white, bearing staves instead of swords. They led the group to a chamber filled with flameglass panels—each showing scenes from the past.
A circular dais waited in the center, surrounded by hooded figures. The Council.
An elder woman with eyes like burning coals stepped forward. "You stand before the Sparks, child of flame. Speak."
Po stepped onto the dais. The heat in the room intensified—not from fire, but from judgment.
"I am Po," he said. "I didn't ask for this power. But I've seen what happens when we ignore it. Dravarn sends monsters—Hounds, Seekers. I fought them. Not because I wanted to—but because I had to."
The council murmured. Another figure stood. A tall man with gold robes and a staff carved with phoenix feathers.
"And if we gave you more power?" he asked. "What would you do with it?"
Po hesitated. Then said, "I'd learn to wield it. To protect those who can't. To fight back against Varik. To burn away the chains he wraps around the world."
The council was silent.
Then the woman nodded. "So be it. The Trial of Embers shall begin at dawn."
Thorne leaned toward Kaelen and muttered, "He just agreed to maybe die, didn't he?"
She nodded. "Pretty much."
The Trial took place at the heart of Skyreach, in a chamber open to the sky and surrounded by floating braziers. Flames of every color danced in silence—blue, gold, white, and one that flickered between them all.
A member of the Council gestured. "Step into the circle, Po. Let the Flame judge your heart."
Po took a breath and stepped forward.
Fire leapt around him, forming a ring. He felt pressure—not heat, but weight. As if all the Flame's history pressed down on his shoulders.
Visions hit him like hammer blows.
A warrior with a blade of sunlight standing against a tidal wave of shadows.
A girl with embers in her eyes reaching toward a dying star.
A dragon made of fire, coiled around a world in mourning.
He staggered.
Then, one more vision.
Himself—older, cloaked in gold and black, standing over a ruined battlefield. A crown of fire floated above his head.
He screamed and fell to his knees.
The fire dimmed.
He gasped for air. Kaelen rushed forward, but the councilwoman raised a hand. "He must finish it."
Po forced himself upright. "I saw… things. Not just mine. All of them."
The gold-robed man spoke. "Then you are a Keeper of Flame. Not just its bearer."
"What does that mean?" Po asked.
"It means," the woman said, "your choices will ripple across more than this world. Across all that have burned before, and all that will after."
They lowered their hoods.
Po blinked. He recognized none of their faces—but something in their eyes… they looked like Kaelen. Like Thorne. Like him.
"I don't understand."
"You don't need to," the woman said. "Only that your fire is no longer just yours. It belongs to fate now. And fate has enemies."
The gold-robed man handed Po a shard of glass—fiery and humming. "A piece of the Ember Core. It will awaken your deeper self, if you survive it."
Po took it.
The moment he touched it, the world twisted.
He found himself on a flat plain of ash. A single tree burned at its center. And a figure stood nearby.
His own face.
But older. Wiser. Scarred. And the flames around this version of Po burned violet and silver.
"I was waiting," the double said. "You're early."
"What is this?" Po asked.
"Your soul. Your end. Or your beginning."
They circled each other.
"You are what I might become?" Po asked.
"Not might. Will. Unless you die first."
The double drew a blade of fire. "Come. Let's see if you're worthy of becoming me."
The fight was unlike anything Po had faced. The double moved with elegance and rage, wielding fire as if it were breath. Po struggled, countering with raw force, instinct, and every lesson Kaelen had drilled into him.
"You burn too hot," the double said. "You'll burn out."
"I'd rather burn out than fade away," Po growled, unleashing a torrent of flame shaped into wings.
The firestorm exploded outward. The double staggered.
Po struck—not with fire, but with will.
"I don't want your destiny," he said. "I'll make my own."
And with that, he shattered the blade of fire—and the plain disappeared.
He awoke back in Skyreach, gasping. The shard in his hand pulsed, now glowing steadily.
The Council bowed.
"The Trial is passed," they said in unison.
—
That night, Kaelen found Po staring out from one of Skyreach's wind-bridges.
"You're different," she said.
Po didn't look at her. "I saw a version of me that ruled everything. It terrified me."
"Why?"
"Because it felt… right."
Kaelen said nothing for a while. Then, "Power isn't about control. It's about restraint."
Po nodded. "I need to find Varik. Not to destroy him. To understand why the Flame hates him."
Thorne arrived, holding a scroll. "Then it's a good thing we've got a lead. Dravarn's Seeker left a trail—burnt ley lines in the forest near the Spine of Echoes. That's where they're nesting."
Po took the scroll and tucked it away. "Then we head for the Spine. Tomorrow."
Kaelen nodded. "The war begins in earnest."
And above them, the stars shifted—just slightly.
As if the weave itself was watching.